


Second Best

by MiladyDeWinter (Techno_Queen)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Favoritism, Gen, Sibling Rivalry, also look I wrote something without blood in it yay, as in people like Emma more than they like Jack and they aren't nice about it, except without so much of the rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 03:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Techno_Queen/pseuds/MiladyDeWinter
Summary: Jackson Overland would always be second best.





	Second Best

It started from the moment of her birth, from the moment that seven-year-old Jackson Overland laid eyes on his newborn sister. In that instant, he knew that his purpose in life was to protect this child, to shield her from the darkness and hatred that lurked in this world, to coddle her and make sure that no one dared to harm her. He didn’t know this in quite so many words, of course, for a seven-year-old child is not as eloquent or experienced as that, but the raw sentiment was there in its entirety.

People in the village said that Jackson Overland changed, that day. While before he had been a solitary child, almost cat-like in his sense of pride and independence, now he was far more like an affable dog that accepted love and care from everyone without distinction, but always remained loyal to its master. His newfound position as an older brother fitted him like a glove, and those who knew him were taken aback by his protectiveness, his loyalty, and his insistence that “no one hurts my little sister!”. This new behavior seemed out of character for the haughty Overland boy, and it took a little getting used to.

Once the villagers saw the little girl, however, it was not hard to see just why Jackson cherished her so. Indeed, it was impossible not to adore the girl, with her doe-like brown eyes, her soft and mousy brown hair, her button nose, her laugh. She was perfect in every respect.

Unlike her brother.

Jack may have changed that day, his cold demeanour melted away at the new-found warmth his younger sister brought into his heart, but he now developed an entirely new set of problems. The trickster spirit suddenly awoke in him, and from the early age of ten he was already causing chaos in the village. People no longer spoke of him with disdain or with pleased surprise, but instead with irritation and anger. 

_“Jack! Give that back!”_

_“Silly child, why must you act this way--”_

_“Something wrong with him, I swear--”_

_“Jack, put that down--”_

_“Why can’t you be more like your sister--”_

Ah, yes. Why couldn’t he be more like his sister, indeed. Emma was the perfect child, obedient, calm, and quiet, while her older brother was a hoodlum and a nuisance. Why couldn’t he be more like her?

Over time, no one bothered to conceal their dislike of “that Overland boy”, and their preference for Emma. Tempers became pricklier, and sometimes someone would scold Jack for almost no reason at all. The chant never ended, coming from all sides, _why can’t you be like your sister? Why can’t you be like your sister?_

It grew worse as time went on. Emma was smarter than Jackson, able to catch on quickly and effectively. Reading and writing came easily to the girl, while Jack had more difficulty, to the point where even his ever-patient mother became frustrated with him. Emma could learn faster, work faster, run faster; she perpetually left Jack behind in the dust, basking merrily in the praise and affection of others while her own brother was left on the sidelines, his strong sense of loyalty the only thing making him stay.

She never realized his troubles, however, and Jack would make sure it stayed that way. She didn’t need to know what was happening, didn’t need to know about the chilly looks and cold shoulders that he received all day, every day. She deserved to be happy, to be having fun, and it was Jack’s duty as an older brother to make sure she stayed that way. 

~=~

He stared blankly at the note in his hands, thin fingers gripping tightly at crumpled and worn paper as he read and reread what was written upon it. Although he rarely felt angry, pure rage now heated his veins, making his hands shake and vision blur as he glared at the paper.

It shouldn’t bother him this much. Thomas was an arrogant idiot, with an ego that was ridiculously large, and the whole village knew he was petty and vicious with a cruel streak that didn’t belong in little children. The stupid poem shouldn’t bother him this much, he knew that.

Then why did he feel like crying?

 _There was once a boy in Burgess,_  
_Who was known for his temper and crossness,_  
_Then came his sister,_  
_Who tempered his anger_ ,  
_And left him idiotic and spineless!_

He felt like screaming, but continued to read, the words branding themselves in his mind.

 _He fancied himself her protector,_  
_For the goddess he constructed an altar,_  
_But the cruel truth was,_  
_He was useless as fuzz,_  
_And annoyed her far more than he helped her._

He wanted to deny it, wanted to march up to Thomas and demand he take back these words, but he couldn't…

 _In appearance and brain she outmatched him,_  
_In strength and in speed she outdid him,_  
_Behind her he trailed,_  
_Forever he failed,_  
_His stupidity and brazenness defiled him!_

...Because as much as he didn’t want to admit it…

 _Oh, why couldn’t he cease to annoy her?_  
_Couldn’t he see that he was being a bother?_  
_She does not need a lackey,_  
_So go home, Jackie,_  
_And stop irritating your sister!_

...They were _true._

_-By Thomas Brown._

He gritted his teeth, and with three brisk movements he tore the note into shreds, before tossing away the bits of paper erratically. Through the tears that blurred his vision he watched as the lazy breeze scattered the shreds in all directions, and through the anger which choked him a strong hatred made its appearance.

He _hated_ Thomas Brown. 

He shook his head, forcing the anger and hate back down. He was better than this, better than Thomas, who let his hate control his actions. Jackson Overland may be the village idiot, but he knew enough to realize that loathing and fury would only poison his life. 

Still, Thomas had no right. It was none of that haughty boy’s business how Jack or Emma lived their lives. Even if some of Thomas’ words did ring true, that didn’t change the fact that he was a blockhead and a sneak--

“Jack?”

Snapped out of his musing, he looked sideways to see that Emma was next to him, looking up at him with a concerned expression. Forcing a smile on his face, the boy crouched down to be on eye level with her. “Yes, little lady?”

She gazed at him oddly. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, he wanted to say no. He wanted to admit that something was wrong, that Thomas was a contemptuous, unbearable nitwit. He wanted to tell her about the poem and his fears and the cruel words the other villagers told him, day in day out.

For a moment, he wanted to be weak.

“...I’m fine, Emma. Do you want to play hopscotch?”

**Author's Note:**

> Guys...don't steal my poem, please. I worked hard on that thing, it's hard to write a poem entirely in limericks.
> 
> ...Thoughts?


End file.
